She was there
Then she was gone
She made my morning
A beautiful one
The sky was blue
The sun up high
And perched on a branch
Was the beautiful (…?)
It’s been a struggle
To wake up in the morning
But when the bato-bato greets me
With its royal blue feathers
And hollow cry
My body and mind (…?)
I arise
Written on 2019-06-01.
The bato-bato does not fly as gracefully as the bird whose identity i am yet to nail down. The bato-bato is heavy and its tail is not cut into two. It’s a less efficient fyer unlike the common pigeon.
When over the fields, the maya flies low. The bird in question flies high. I feel like it’s a